Loving Byrne (3 page)

Stephen crossed over the threshold and entered the manse. The butler trailed him, closing the door behind them. Her insides turned to ice. Stephen had gone inside that horrible place. With that lady of the night, and most likely scads more like her.

Minutes passed. Or was it hours? The carriage horse snorted and stamped his foot. The clank of iron on stone resounded into the night. If her shoes were clad with steel, the carriage floor would ring with a similar sound.

More minutes passed. Wicked and worrisome thoughts slithered into her head. Images of half-naked women circling her beloved, beguiling him with their charms. Could any man, even one as devoted as Stephen, ignore such a temptation? She gathered her skirts and pushed open the carriage door. Not if she could help it.

As she footed the first step, the door to the manse swung open. She froze, watching, waiting.

Her beloved moved onto the stoop—alone. She blew out a relieved breath. He hadn’t succumbed to temptation. Yet it also meant Hammond was still on the loose.

Stephen tucked on his hat and trotted down the stairs. As he drew closer, his worried gaze latched onto her. “Victoria, what the devil are you doing? Get back inside the cab.”

She remained in the doorway, unwilling to let him out of her sight. “You were gone so long, I became worried.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs and reached up to pat her hand. “Go back inside, sweetheart. I’ll join you after I speak with the driver.”

She hesitated a second, and then eased back onto the seat. After a quick word with the cabbie, Stephen ducked through the door and joined her. The cloying scent of flowery perfume came with him. A souvenir from his stint in that warren of wickedness. It certainly wasn’t the vanilla fragrance she always wore.

“That place, Stephen. It was a-a...” she broke off with a shudder, unable to say the word aloud. Just thinking it turned her stomach.

“I know. I’m sorry you had to encounter such depravity, but it couldn’t be helped.”

The carriage rocketed forward, and Victoria gripped the seat to steady herself and her ire. “I assume Mr. Hammond wasn’t in there.”

“No, but he
was
earlier. Unfortunately, he was so inebriated and belligerent, the doorman refused to allow him entrance.”

Why then had Stephen gone inside? To confirm the butler’s claim, or to lay eyes on those half-naked women? Though her tongue burned with questions, she swallowed them down with a hard gulp. She’d vowed to do whatever it took to help Stephen, even choke on her own outrage.

“I had to go inside so I could speak with the proprietress,” he added as if mind-reading was another of his amazing skills. “She had suggested an alternative establishment to Hammond.”

A reasonable explanation. Victoria reclined against the seat, her heated blood cooling. “I can’t believe Mr. Hammond would even consider going to such a wicked place. On the eve of his wedding for Heaven’s sake.”

“Some men are just weak-willed.”

Thank goodness her Stephen wasn’t one of them. Or was he? Many men visited ladies of ill repute. If they didn’t, there’d be no need for such places. She pushed the notion out of her head. Stephen had given her no reason to distrust his devotion.

“Are we going to this alternative establishment?”

Wool squelched against the seat as he shifted his position. “No. I’m taking you home.”

“Home? Why?”

“Because the riverfront is no place for a lady.”

She shook her head. “But my house is miles in the other direction. You’ll risk losing Hammond again.”

“It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

Not while she drew breath. “I won’t let you jeopardize your commission for no good reason.” She rapped the carriage roof. “Stop, driver. Stop this instant.”

The cabbie gave a whistle. The hack slowed and then rumbled to a stop. “What is it, Ma’am? Is something amiss?” he yelled from his perch.

“Take us to the riverfront.” She poked Stephen’s arm. “Tell him where.”

“No. You’re not coming with me.”

She reached for the door handle. “Then I’m getting out.”

“Victoria, it’s not—”

“I mean what I say,” she interrupted. “Either we go to the riverfront together, or I find my own way home.”

He covered her hand with his. “Victoria, the riverfront is full of unsavory characters. Especially at night. It’s too dangerous.”

“Your future in the Army is my only concern.”

“This place is ten times worse than The Maynard House. You shouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

She released the handle and curled her hand into his. “I trust you to protect me. Besides we’ll only be there a short while. Long enough for you to go inside, find Hammond, and bring him out.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It has to be. We don’t have any other choice. Your future—our future—rests with getting this man safely back to the hotel. That won’t happen if you’re delayed taking me home.”

“I’ll find you another hack.”

Could a mule be any more stubborn?
“This late at night, in this remote part of town? That would take even longer than if you accompanied me home.” She tugged free of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t have it. Tell the driver our new destination.”

Only the hiss of his breath rushing past clenched teeth broke the deafening quiet. Her stomach twisted. Much as she hated being at odds with her beloved, this was one battle she intended to win. Needed to win. For both their sakes.

Springs squawked as the driver moved on his perch. He cleared his throat and called down to them, “Cain’t sit here all night, mate. Where to?”

She shoved up her chin and pinned Stephen with a pointed glare. “Well, love? Where to?”

He drew in a long, slow breath and let it out in a noisy puff. “Fine. I’ll allow you to come. But you must give your word that you’ll stay inside the carriage. No matter what you see or hear.”

Checkmate.
“I promise.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, and then glanced skyward. “Take us to the riverfront, driver. Boyd’s Tavern.”

“And hurry,” she added.

As the hack lurched forward, Stephen gathered her in his arms and scooped her onto his lap. Nimble fingers pressed delightfully into her ribs. “Are you always going to be this willful, Miss Manning?”

The tension went out of her at his teasing tone. She nuzzled his neck. “Only when the love of my life is threatened.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

Oh, she could think of several things. Most of them deliciously delightful. She fingered the collar of his uniform jacket. “What would you like to do?”

“What I should and what I’d like to do are two different issues.” He tried to be stern, but it didn’t work. The devilish curve of his mouth softened his words.

“How different are they?”

“Very different. You do know that an officer’s wife is expected to obey her husband’s orders without question.”

“Yes, but if I had obeyed, I might not have the chance to
become
an officer’s wife. Then I wouldn’t be able to do this...” She traced a path with her tongue, gliding over smooth-shaven flesh from his firm jaw to the pulsing base of his neck. “Or this...” She sucked gently, pulling skin into her mouth and gnawing softly. He tasted of salt and sweetness. A most delicious late night treat.

A groan rumbled in the back of his throat. “Victoria...”

She smiled and lifted her head. “Did you like that?”

He groaned again and moved a hand to the back of her neck. “You catch onto this game far too quickly.”

You haven’t seen anything yet, my love.
She wiggled, pressing down on the firm thighs bunched beneath her. A sharp, indrawn breath bugled his defeat. She let go a laugh. Skirmishing with her lieutenant was oh-so enjoyable.

He cupped the back of her head and forced her mouth down onto his. Her laughter turned to a moan of pleasure. He knew just how to retaliate. His tongue swept over her lips, parrying and feinting, a foe to be reckoned with. Clever fingers massaged her scalp, and desire surged inside her like an invading army—one she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop.

She slumped against him, surrendering. The rise and fall of his chest brushed her breasts in pleasing strokes. His kisses seared her lips. She moaned again. Nothing else mattered but this loving Byrne.

A shout and the stench of rotted fish carried into the carriage.

She toppled off the pinnacle of desire and into the cold water of reality. This was not the place or the time for such carrying-on. She pulled away and pushed against his chest. “Stop, Stephen.”

“What?”

“I think we’ve arrived.”

In confirmation, the hack slowed and came to a stop. Stephen grunted. “So we have.”

He released her, and she slid back onto the seat. Outside the window, moonlight basted a single-story shack that sat just off the roadway, its rotted, weatherworn boards badly in need of repair. A barely legible placard proclaimed the name, Boyd’s Tavern. More like Boyd’s sewer pit.

Stephen’s hand closed over hers. “Sweetheart.”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Remember your promise. Stay inside the carriage. And take this.” He pressed cold steel into her palm. “I know Howard taught you how to shoot. Use it if anyone tries to attack you.”

Oh no, no, no. She pushed the weapon back at him. “I can’t take your pistol. You might need it.”

He grasped the door handle instead. “I want you to have it. I won’t be distracted if I know you’re protected.”

“What about your protection?”

“I’ll be fine.” He rose and ducked out of the carriage before she could utter another protest. Once on the curb, he turned and gave her an encouraging smile. “Be vigilant, my darling. I’ll be back before you can draw your next breath.”

Her grip on the pistol wavered. The last time he said those words, their sunny world had turned dark.

****

The pocked, weather-worn stairs leading up to the stoop looked as if they wouldn’t hold the weight of a mongrel pup, much less that of a man. Stephen stepped onto the nailed end where he hoped it was stronger. Though the tread squalled in protest, he made it to the landing without crashing through the rotted wood. A miracle in a day full of shit gone wrong.

He gave a quick check over his shoulder. Moonlight torched the barren yard and the street beyond in a pale streak. The only movement came from the carriage horse tossing its head and chomping impatiently on the steel bit. The animal was just as eager as he was to be away from such a foul place. The odor of rotted fish, garbage, and rot-gut whiskey congealed to make a putrid soup. The cesspit of Washington. And he’d brought his love into the thick of it. Bile made a charge up his throat. If anything happened to her...

He grabbed for the door. He’d make sure nothing happened to her. He’d conduct a quick search for Hammond, haul the dolt out if he was in there, and then they’d leave. Simple. Just like Victoria had said.

Before he could turn the handle, the door swung open, and a gruff-looking brute filled the entrance. The porter tugged on a scraggly beard that most likely held as much vermin as it did grime. Beady eyes raked over him. “You here for drink or pleasure?”

“Neither.” Stephen craned his neck, trying to see around the troll. “I’m looking for someone. An Englishman. I was told he came here.”

“I been on duty since sundown. Ain’t seen no Englishman.”

“You sure?” He fished in his pocket and extracted a coin. This was turning into an expensive evening—in more ways than one. “He’s a well-dressed gentleman. Slender build. My age. He was already in his cups. You’d be sure to notice.”

The coin disappeared into a paw the size of an ammo pouch. “I’m sure. But you can come in and see for yourself.” Troll stepped to the side and motioned for him to enter. “Have a drink. Or a woman if you have a hankering.”

Not in this lifetime, bub
. Stephen drew in one last relatively clean slug of air and moved inside. He’d rather be stomped by charging horses than enter a rat’s den like this. But it had to be done. Troll wasn’t a tenth as trustworthy as The Maynard House butler. A search had to be conducted.

Barely dressed whores and half-drunk men lounged in chairs pushed up to tables or stood at the filthy plank that served as a bar. Several bar-hounds turned to give him the once over. None were Hammond. Not that he really expected to find the Englishman out in the open. That would be too easy.

On the far side of the taproom, a darkened corridor lay just beyond a small archway. Probably led to the whoring area. Rooms where a thin, straw mattress had been tossed onto the floor to be soiled by dirt, stale sweat, and men’s juices. He’d visited a few such places in his undisciplined youth, his senses dulled by the overpowering need to have a woman, any woman, no matter her appearance or smell. Now the thought of such depravity turned his stomach.

Though his feet itched to retreat, he pushed forward, weaving around the tables and ignoring the whiskey-slurred calls of the whores. There were only two rooms leading off the hallway in the back. One was empty. In the other, a pot-bellied hog of a man grunted and pumped against the barely detectable female lying beneath him. Fleshy rolls jounced with each thrust. War veterans often spoke of visions from battle that haunted them. He hoped this wasn’t going to be one of his ghosts.